does seem to
me when I am dressed up that I am really better-looking than some
girls, but I am never quite sure that it isn't because it is I who am
looking at myself. A girl wants to think she is pretty, you know,
Maria, especially if she wants anybody to like her, and I can't ever
tell."

"Well, you can rest easy about that," said Maria. "You are a perfect
beauty. There isn't a girl in Amity to compare with you. You needn't
have any doubt at all."

An expression of quite innocent and naive vanity overspread Lily's
charming face. She cast a glance at herself in a glass which hung on
the opposite wall, and smiled as a child might have done at her own
reflection. "Do you think this green dress is becoming to me?" said
she.

"Very."

"But, Maria, do you suppose George Ramsey thinks I am so pretty?"

"I should think he must, if he has eyes in his head," replied Maria.

"But you are pretty yourself, Maria," said Lily, with the most open
jealousy and anxiety, "and you are smarter than I am, and he is so
smart. I do think he cares a great deal more for you than for me. I
think he must, Maria."

"Nonsense!" said Maria. "Just because a young man walks home with me
once you think he is in love with me." Maria tried to speak lightly
and scornfully, but in spite of herself there was an accent of
gratification in her tone. In spite of herself she forgot for the
moment.

"I think he does, all the same," said Lily, dejectedly.

"Nonsense! He doesn't; and if he did, he would have to take it out in
caring."

"Then you were in earnest about what you said last night?" said Lily,
eagerly. "You really mean you wouldn't have George Ramsey if he asked
you?"

"Not if he asked every day in the year for a hundred years."

"I guess you must have seen somebody else whom you liked," said Lily,
and Maria colored furiously. Then Lily laughed. "Oh, you have!" she
cried, with sudden glee. "You are blushing like anything. Do tell me,
Maria."

"I have nothing to tell."

"Maria Edgham, you don't dare tell me you are not in love with
anybody?"

"I should not answer a question of that kind to any other girl,
anyway," Maria replied, angrily.

"You are. I know it," said Lily. "Don't be angry, dear. I am real
glad."

"I didn't say I was in love, and there is nothing for you to be glad
about," returned Maria, fairly scarlet with shame and rage. She
tangled the silk with which she was working, and broke it short off.
Maria was as yet